The Week Alfred Went Away
by SpaceCaptain Zangano
Summary: Alfred takes a week-long vacation, leaving Bruce to fend for himself. Gift!fic for Scorp.


The Week Alfred Went Away

Day 1: Alfred Leaves

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman, or make any profit from this fanfic.

**Author's Note:** This is a gift-fic for Scorp. She writes awesome Batman stories that aren't nearly as silly as this one. ;)

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Alfred was gone for one week on what he called, "a brief holiday to get out a bit, I'm sure you'll manage to survive one week by yourself, Master Bruce?", and had left on the first flight that morning for someplace with warm sunny weather, sand and palm trees.

"What does he think this is, a frat house?" Bruce grumbled into his pillow as he smashed his beeping alarm clock. One week? No-one would even realize Alfred was gone.

Bruce yawned and stumbled out of bed. He sniffed, but instead of the usual aroma of Alfred's delicious breakfast, he smelled…something burning. He realized with a slight pang that Alfred would be missed after all. Maybe just at meal times.

"Kids. Don't they have enough sense to order take-out?" Bruce ran a hand over his stubble and headed for the stairs. Once he taught his bat-protégés the wonder of how to use a phone to order food, the day would get better. He hoped.

Unfortunately for Bruce, the day was about to take a sharp turn downhill. Literally. One moment his feet were on lush thick carpet. The next moment they were on pointed sharp plastic monstrosities toy manufacturers sold to children as "legos".

"Ow! What the &)(*#!" Bruce yelled as he fell face first kathunking down the stairs.

"Father!" Damian glared down at him from the top of the stairs. "You've destroyed my fort."

"Damian, why did you have your LEGOS ON THE STAIRS?" Bruce asked.

"Obviously, that is the best strategic position for a fort," Damian explained. "They can easily see any approaching threat." He surveyed the mess scattered across the floor. "Next time I'll make sure they are armed sufficiently. Perhaps toothpicks or barbed wire would suffice."

Bruce groaned and rubbed his feet while wondering if Talia was somehow electronically transmitting evil "Torture Bruce" plots to Damian-

His stomach rumbled, interrupting his thoughts. Right. Breakfast. Bruce experimentally sniffed the air again. It smelled just as burnt as it had before, even more so now. "Uh, Damian, is someone cooking?"

Damian picked up a few legos and would have glared daggers at Bruce if he had any (but Alfred had confiscated them all before leaving) and answered, "Grayson is preparing breakfast in the kitchen. He told me I should "act my age" and construct buildings out of these legos, and then you knocked them down and created another childhood trauma, father."

Bruce had a feeling Damian was playing up the pity card for dramatic effect. Still, he always felt guilt at not having been there for the first ten years of his son's life. "Sorry," he said gruffly. "Why don't we go see if Dick has any food ready?"

Damian huffed indignantly, but brushed past Bruce and walked toward the kitchen. "Grayson!" he yelled. "Father is inquiring about the food."

They entered the kitchen to find a giant mess. There was a half-filled mixing bowl in the sink, a charred mess in one of the skillets on the stove that at one point may have been sausages, and another skillet with partially charred eggs stuck to the bottom. The entire kitchen smelled about as appetizing as it looked.

"Here," Dick said as he set plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Bruce and Damian. "I had a little trouble with the stove, but I think the eggs and toast are still edible," he finished with an apologetic laugh. 'Little trouble' was an understatement. The eggs were blackened around the edges with gloopy chunks in the middle. The toast was burnt, and there were ants in the jam.

"Grayson!" Damian scolded. "These eggs are so terrible I would only feed them to my worst enemy as a torture technique. And can't you even make toast? I refuse to eat this," Damian said as he chucked the plate back into the kitchen, whizzing past Dick's head to splatter on the floor.

Bruce stood up from the table. "Damian!" he scolded. "Help Dick clean up the kitchen. I'll order breakfast."

"That's okay, I already ordered pizza," Tim yelled from the other room.

Dick looked slightly hurt that no-one wanted to eat his food, but dumped the remainder of the eggs and toast into the trash while Damian loaded the dishwasher by tossing the plates in. He chipped a few, but for the most part had excellent aim. Damian scowled as he finished, apparently miffed that he had to use his amazing League of Assassins skills for such mundane domestic tasks.

Bruce's eye twitched. Pizza for breakfast, and a disaster in the kitchen. Alfred would be appalled.

-x-

Bruce was late for work, since he had to drive back to the Manor after almost forgetting his phone. He tried not to think of how Alfred would have wordlessly slipped the phone into his hand as he left, had the butler been here. Six more days. He sighed. It would be a long week. He considered taking the rest of the week off and joining Alfred in Cartagena, but then the Manor would probably get burnt down. And Bruce had been the one to initially suggest that Alfred could use a short vacation after all his years of hard work. Surely Bruce could last one week without Alfred. The first day was probably the hardest with the initial adjustment, that was all.

-x-

When Bruce returned home, the Manor was even more of a disaster zone. There were scattered pizza boxes and legos all over the floor. It looked like they had eaten pizza for breakfast and lunch, and were planning on eating it for dinner. He needed to give Tim a lecture on proper nutrition. But at least they were eating. Bruce sighed and scraped a piece of pizza off the floor and ate it.

Then he heard shrieking and arguing from the next room.

Damian had lassoed one of Tim's legs, and was attempting to suspend him from the ceiling, and Dick was trying unsuccessfully to mediate the conflict.

"Stay out of this, Grayson!" Damian raged. "I won't allow Drake to mock me in my own home; he has to learn the consequences of his actions!"

"Damian!" Bruce yelled. "We don't hang people from the ceiling in the house!" He paused in thought for a moment. "Not allies anyway."

Damian three the rope down in disgust. "You're taking his side? Without even listening to me? Some father you are." Then he stomped angrily to his room and slammed the door.

Bruce sank into the couch and groaned, while Dick untied Tim.

"Can this day get any worse?" Bruce asked. "Never mind, don't answer that," he added quickly. Maybe he just needed a long workout. Bench-pressing and punching his special indestructible punching bag always helped him deal with stress.

-x-

Unfortunately, Bruce realized that there was no Alfred to bring them their post-workout protein shake and recovery meal _after_ they had worked out.

"I think there's some chocolate milk in the fridge," Tim suggested.

Damian reached the refrigerator first and chugged the rest of the chocolate milk, so Dick tried to make a protein shake by blending together protein powder, almonds and cashews, but it tasted terrible.

Bruce drank it anyway because he was starving by then, and it was almost time to leave for his nightly patrol.


End file.
